The Taurian Gambit
by drakensis
Summary: For the Calderon family it had been a brutal tragedy, for Hanse Davion it was an opportunity... for the Capellan Confederation it spelled disaster. Based off a roleplay


The Taurian Gambit

"_History is full of examples of diplomacy being greased through mutual interests of the participants in otherwise unrelated fields. The formation of the Free Worlds League centuries ago might never have happened if the heads of the Regulan and Marik states had not both been collectors. More recently, it was the shared interest in the arts that led Janos Marik to be won over by Subash Indrahar to form an alliance with House Kurita. And so it was again, when two men, both rulers of their respective nations, found that they had more in common than they realised_."

- Misha Auburn, _Taking the Bull by the Horns_

Tharkad University Press, 3035

.oOo.

**Walmer Bay, Hyalite**

**Capellan March, Federated Suns**

**19 October 3027**

The little resort on Hyalite was more used by tourists from the upper and middle classes of the remote world's mining industry than by offworld visitors and was thus not especially convenient for dropship landings. While it was technically quite feasible for a dropship such as Hanse Davion's personal command vessel the _Camelot_ to make a rough landing, such measures were usually a matter of military pragmatism and as no such reason applied on this occasion, the ship had set down at the nearest of Hyalite's dropship ports, a few hundred miles north, and the First Prince made that last short leg of the journey by private jet.

It was no great surprise to him that the person he had come to meet had arrived at the resort before him. Hyalite was a remote world on the border with the Taurian Concordat, far closer to the capital of that state than with the core worlds of the sprawling Federated Suns. However, after several days travel on a dropship even before he boarded the aircraft, even the stoutest of statesmen would want to stretch their limbs and breath fresh air. Fortunately, he had the excuse of arriving late in the day and so was able to schedule his first meeting for the morning.

Circumstance, however, does not always shape itself to the whims of princes. Hanse had elected to work off his excess of energy with a brisk jog along the sea wall above the resort's beach, accompanied of course by a squad of security. Due to an outcropping pier it was not until he was almost upon them that the First Prince of the Federated Suns saw a second security detail, these in distinctly different uniforms, watching over their own sovereign. As a result, rather than being dressed in his uniform, Hanse Davion was wearing faded sweats when he first laid eyes upon the young Protector of the Taurian Concordat and for his part, Michael Calderon was barefoot in shorts and T-shirt, a light sunhat shading his head.

As yet up observed by his counterpart (although watchful security were of course a different matter), Hanse paused and took in his first impressions. He had seen pictures before of course: the Taurian press had not lacked portrayals of him over the last three years. Those pictures had shown a youth slowly becoming a young man, broad-shouldered and a few inches taller than Hanse although certainly not the giant that the prince's nephew Morgan was turning out to be. But here Hanse could see the reality behind what reports had painted after Michael Calderon had first come to his attention… and what he saw was a man with the confidence to remember that he was still, in many ways, a boy.

It was an appealing image, enough so that Hanse hesitated to accept it. Certainly he could not imagine a younger Takashi Kurita or Maximilian Liao – much less the intense Michael Hasek-Davion - setting out with a small, colourful shovel to dig miniature moats and raise diminutive keeps and curtain walls of wet sand. A head of state would not be so carefree. So childish.

But there was not a sense of childishness to the youth, anymore than – when Michael was alerted to his presence – there was self-consciousness at being caught in an activity not befitting what dignity his few years granted him. Instead, the young Protector was carrying out his efforts in a workmanlike fashion, a thoughtful look upon his face as he shoveled the sand carefully.

Without realising he had made the decision, Hanse turned down the concrete stairs to the sands below. "Protector Calderon, I presume?" His running shoes dug into the sand, reminding him of seaside excursions in his youth. How long had it been since he had been able to relax the way the younger ruler was?

"You presume correctly, sir." Michael raised a hand to shade his eyes against the evening son. "And you would be Hanse Davion." He drove the spade into the sand and left it standing. "I would have thought you'd be resting after your journey."

"I can rest enough on a ship." Hanse gestured towards the sprawl of shaped sand. "I was just wondering what you were doing?"

"Playing Knut," the younger man explained tersely.

"Knut?"

Michael gestured towards the sea. "The tide is coming in, your Highness. Admittedly I can't truly stop it -"

"Ah," Hanse interrupted in sudden understanding. "Canute. King of England, wasn't he?"

"That's the anglicized form of his name," Michael agreed. "He was Danish though, and King there and of Denmark. A respectable empire for the day. As I said, I can't stop the tide, but perhaps I can divert it for a while."

"You seem well informed about something that happened two thousand years ago. Are you interested in history?"

Michael nodded, still looking out to sea. "Second millennium English history is a hobby of mine, although I do branch out a bit."

"I'm more of an Italian Renaissance man myself," revealed Hanse, intrigued.

"Casting yourself as one of da Vinci's patrons? It's not a field I'm well versed in, although I don't think you'd be flattered by a comparison to the English contemporary."

It took Hanse a moment to place the reference and then he grimaced. "I'd hope to think I'm not another Henry VIII of England."

"It's not a very good parallel, I suppose. Still, he was a remarkable man. Achieved great things. Terrible perhaps, but great things nonetheless."

"Six wives is a bit many for any man," Hanse snorted. "No thank you, Protector Calderon. I'll stick with the model I have."

"He was a second son, never expected to take the throne until his brother died," Michael mused, an amused look in his eyes. "And he too married for love. For that matter, wasn't he closely associated with a schismatic branch of the Catholic church?"

If it wasn't for the teasing note in Michael's voice, Hanse would have refuted the comparison as harshly as diplomacy allowed. He restrained himself however, guessing that the younger man was testing his boundaries. "I suppose we have that in common," he said, thinking back to the long ago day he had learnt of Ian Davion's death in battle. "You, I and old Henry."

For a moment, Michael paused. "Yes, that's true." It was almost three years now since an out of control dropship had crashed down upon a gathering of House Calderon. Protector Thomas Calderon and his immediate family, along with entire generations of more distant relatives, had been blotted out in a single terrible moment of fire. Michael, then only sixteen, would have been there himself had he not broken his leg the previous day and been in a hospital bed forty miles away. "That was indiplomatic of me. I apologise."

"Apology accepted," Hanse said and forced himself to relax slightly. He reminded himself that Michael was significantly more moderate than his predecessor, or than Grover Shraplen, who had acted as regent for Michael's minority. While Thomas' paranoia (and MIIO reports had suggested that it was clinically diagnosable) had been directed evenhandedly at both neighbouring Successor States, Shraplen had focused his attention entirely upon the Federated Suns and had held the Taurian Defense Force on a full alert for almost two years, apparently in expectation of an imminent invasion.

In contrast, even while a minor Michael had sat on the privy council as an observer and it was strongly suggested that he'd had a hand in re-opening diplomatic relations with New Avalon over Shraplen's protests and possibly even master-minded the new anti-pirate strategy that Shraplen had both taken credit for and promptly tried to defang in order to shift resources to face the chimerical invasion. Since taking on his full duties earlier in 3027 Michael had called a halt to raiding across the border and steadily ramped down the alert status of the Taurian Defense Forces, which had allowed Hanse to do likewise. If it wasn't for the Duke of New Syrtis seeing this as weakness and sending raiding expeditions into Taurian space, all would have been well.

"So do you think that these will protect the castle?" he asked, changing the subject.

"No," Michael gestured to the high water mark. "There's only so much that can be done with sand. But it does no harm to try."

The phrase 'don't you think it's a bit childish' passed through Hanse's mind. He didn't voice it. Michael, however, had evidently guessed at it because he smiled somewhat slyly at the older man. "I've spent the last couple of years toeing the line when it comes to the dignity of my office," he confided, pulling the spade free. "But every now and then I like to take a little time to remember that I wasn't always carrying the weight of the Concordat on my shoulders."

.oOo.

Walmer Bay, Hyalite

Capellan March, Federated Suns

20 October 3027

"Since we established yesterday who we are -" Sitting across a coffee table from each other, the two rulers were more formally dressed than they had been for their first meeting. Hanse wore the same uniform he had fifteen years before when he was Colonel of the Davion Heavy Guards and Michael had selected a dark blue three-piece suit, setting aside the jacket before he sat on the couch. It was hard to say if it was a calculated gesture or simply a desire for comfort.

"If you're about to analogise that we're Stefan Amaris and Richard Cameron, don't."

"I don't know which of us would be which, but neither is flattering." Michael seemed amused rather than offended. "Continuing, the next logical question is 'what do you want'?" He picked up a water glass from the table and filled it from the jug, making a gesture to offer it to Hanse, who declined.

"The first thing on my agenda is jumpships." Hanse grimaced. "Your forces recently captured nine jumpships that were transporting various raiding groups from the Capellan March into the Taurian Concordat. Now, I'm not going to pretend that they were supposed to be there: I told you that I would stop raids to the best of my ability and I appreciate that you didn't lauch counter-raids even though you would have been entirely justified in doing so."

Michael raised his glass in acknowledgement of the verbal concession, before sipping from it.

"Five of those jumpships were AFFS property that were deployed across the border without authorisation and I'm prepared to offer ransom for their return, just as you allowed the Mechwarriors and their machines to depart in exchange for payment from their units."

"Hmm. Just those jumpships?"

Hanse had a sly look on his face. "The other jumpships and all the dropships were private property, either of the units involved or of individuals. Duke Hasek-Davion and his hirelings can settle their own debts, I am sure."

"Oddly, they haven't been in touch with me." Michael set down the glass. "Perhaps they will be motivated by your visit."

"So, what price do you set on those ships?"

"Let's say a hundred million C-bills each, call it five hundred and fifty million pounds for the lot."

Hanse winced. It wasn't an unreasonable amount to be honest, around half the market value of the vessels, but it was going to make a hole in his budget. Then he thought for a moment of the exchange rate he was being offered for paying in his own nation's currency – at the current exchange rate the C-Bill was valued at one point eleven pounds, but Michael was only exchanging at one point ten. And by taking the ransom in pounds the money would doubtless be spent within the Federated Suns, generating exports to the Taurian Concordat. So a harsh but fair price, being offered with consideration. "That would be fair," he acknowledged. "However, perhaps I could offer payment in kind."

"I'm certainly willing to listen."

"I imagine that you've heard reports that my engineers have managed to create an entirely new battlemech design, the Hatchetman."

Michael nodded and refilled his glass.

Hanse wasn't surprised: among the reports on Michael had been a mention of his interest in encouraging technological innovation. He had gone to some lengths to obtain the rights for the Merlin, another new design, and establish a factory for the Mech inside the Concordat. "In exchange for those five jumpships, I offer you the production rights for it, along with the services of a team of NAIS engineers to help you set up the tooling to set up a factory."

"That's a very generous offer, Hanse." Michael thought it over for a moment, swaying his hand slightly to send ripples rolling back and forth inside the water glass he held. Then he shook his head. "However, I'll have to decline it. There's still significant distrust of your people in my nation and giving some of your sharpest a look at our Mech factories would create problems for me, particularly if 'all' we were getting was a design originating from NAIS, I'm sorry to say."

"Particularly on Macleod's Land?" Besides being Michael's regent for two years, Shraplen was Lord Ruler of that planet.

Michael smiled ruefully. "I imagine that your March Lord would cause you as much grief." Point and counter-point, for Michael Hasek-Davion would howl at the thought of Hanse giving cutting edge technology to an often hostile neighbour, even without the recent humiliation he had suffered at the hands of the Taurians.

"Fair point." Hanse returned the smile. The young man was clever and seemed level headed. He wondered if the Concordat recognised how lucky they were: the abrupt demise of so many Calderons could have left them with a Protector disasterously ill-prepared. "Well possibly I can arrange something more to your fickle people's liking. How about a design from my Steiner allies? I can pull a few strings with them, maybe convince them to allow you use of a team from Defiance Industries. If you're willing to consider this a trade for all nine jumpships – they are, after all, yours to dispose of – then maybe I can arrange for you to start maufacturing something in the assault range."

He could see from the look in Michael's eyes that the offer had his attention. Of course, the Concordat did not currently manufacture any assault 'Mechs, so this would add far more to their capabilities than the offer of a Hatchetman would.

"That would be more acceptable," admitted Michael. He set down his glass on the table. "Even at all nine jumpships… hmm. I believe that I heard something about Defiance planning to put the Banshee back into production, some new variant that they came up with."

"I've heard the same thing." The Banshee was among the largest Mechs in existence, but a notorious white elephant: it lacked the firepower necessary to compete effectively against its peers. However, the new BNC-3S looked as if it would carve a new and impressive chapter in the history of the design. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer the rights on the Atlas?" The undisputed king of the assault Mechs, the one hundred ton warmachine was manufactured not only on Hesperus but also on Al Na'ir in the Draconis Combine and Quentin in the Federated Suns so giving it to the Concordat would not be as sensitive as Katrina surrendering the specifications for the new Banshee model.

Michael simply chuckled. "Hanse, the Atlas was designed for Aleksandr Kerensky. If I tried bringing that back to the Concordat I might well be shot at the next time I appear in public. No, I'll take the Banshee if you can arrange that for me."

"I'll see what I can do." Hanse sighed. It would probably be cheaper than Michael's own offer in the long run, but Katrina Steiner was too much a Lyran not to bargain like a tiger over the deal, even if Hanse was less than a year from becoming her son-in-law. In fact, she would probably display extra vigor for that very reason.

"I'll throw you a bone," Michael told him. He opened a document case on the couch next to him, thumbed through it and then pulled out a thin file. "I turned up some details of a Star League cache up on the Volders, in Rasalhague District. There's not a thing I can do with it, it's just too far for me to send troops and if I didn't send some the DCMS would just make off with everything. For Katrina though, seizing it would merely be non-trivial." He tossed the folder down onto the table in front of Hanse. "A gift. Whether it is from me to you or from me to her, I leave up to you."

The prince opened it and scanned the details inside. It wasn't exact details, but he could see enough to whet his own appetite, even though Volders was almost as unreachable for him as it was for the Taurian. "Yes, Katrina will find this very interesting," he agreed. "I think between she and I we can see that you are properly rewarded. Do you have any other bits of wisdom in there to share?"

"Knowledge is power, your highness. And who shares power when they don't have to?" The Protector leant back, rubbing his chin, face suddenly solemn. "Still, there is one thing that is perhaps of mutual interest. I presume you know that your brother-in-law is conspiring with Maximilian Liao… while preparing to betray him in turn of course."

The confirmation hit Hanse Davion like a gut punch. "I had my suspicions but… damn you Michael."

Michael blinked. "Don't kill the messenger," he protested. "I have diplomatic immunity."

"Not you. I mean Michael Hasek-Davion." He sighed. "There was evidence of course. And he's been a rival for the last fifteen years but that he'd go so far… This will kill Morgan."

"Morgan Hasek-Davion?" Michael shook his head. "I can't advise you there. But from what I've heard he would be a far better March Lord than his father. Certainly a loyaler one."

"That's going to depend on how he reacts to this. But thank you for confirming my worst case scenario."

"I can only assume that you don't have such imaginative analysts. The worst case scenario that's been rattling around my brain since someone raised it was that you'd been replaced with a Maskirovka agent. I thought the analyst in question had been working too hard and needed some time off."

Hanse choked and his expression became rather sickly. "Uhm… I realise it's still early but why don't we break for lunch," he suggested weakly. "We've managed to go rather outside my expectations and this is only the first item I wanted to discuss."

.oOo.

After lunch, which had been served privately to the two House Lords, each in their own suite of rooms, they reconvened in the same chamber. Hanse seemed to have recovered his poise after his earlier distress while Michael, for his part, was perhaps more relaxed than was wise – almost sleepy.

Hanse was holding his own document case. "I'm going to take you into my confidence, Protector. I should tell you that I have been strongly advised against doing so, but I believe that I can trust you. However, I need to spell this out: if you leak this then your regent's fears of a Davion invasion will not be groundless. Because that is exactly what I will do, no matter the cost."

The menacing words banished any sleepiness from Michael's face but not his calm. He folded his left arm across his chest, burying the hand against his right elbow, and raised his right hand in front of his mouth. "We both know how such a war would end, Prince Davion. Only one nation would survive and it would not be the Taurian Concordat… but there would be no victory for either side. You may assume that I would prefer to avoid the circumstance."

"I don't take any pride in levelling that threat, Protector. And for what it's worth, I agree that that is exactly how such a war would turn out. As long as your people are good neighbours – and under your leadership I have every confidence that they will be – I have no interest whatsoever in conquering them."

That claim elicited a sceptical look from Michael. "I'm listening, your highness."

"I'm sure you've realised that with the polarisation of the Successor States between two factions – myself and Katrina Steiner against the other three Successor Lords – the entire Inner Sphere is a tinder box just waiting for the first spark. While I would prefer to wait and if possible avert war, quite honestly I don't think that that is practical. Therefore I've decided to light the fire myself, rather than have the coming conflict arrive from some unexpected direction."

Hasnse opened the document case and spread the contents onto the table. Michael eyed them warily. "The internal divisions of the Free Worlds League have always been their achilles heel. My own agents and Katrinas have been fanning them and we have a window of opportunity, during which Janos Marik will be effectively paralyzed, leaving his two partners unsupported. At that time Katrina has agreed to launch an offensive against the Draconis Combine, forcing them to commit their reserves to fight her as without serious opposition from the League she can overwhelm their local forces."

"And with the Combine distracted, I can and will throw the main force of the Armed Forces of the Federated Suns against the Capellan Confederation. I will strike without warning and with overwhelming local superiority." It didn't need to be said what the outcome of those first battles would be: the strongest military of all the Successor States against the weakest, with surprise and numbers on their side? Slaughter. "And once their defences are broken I will hammer them into splinters. It is possible that the Capellan Confederation will survive, somehow, but one way or another by the end of the decade they will no longer pose a threat to my nation."

There was a long moment of silence after Hanse's declaration. Michae's eyes swept across the documents. It was plain that they described the movements of regiments, ships and supplies. From the dates, they were already underway.

"Galahad," he broke the silence. "I could see you were considering a massive military operation after the first one. The second just…" Michael broke off and pulled one sheet of paper out to examine it. "Ah yes, cover for troop movements as well. And this next Operation Galahad, along with the second of House Steiner's Operation Thor exercises won't be training exercises at all, will they?"

Hanse shook his head. "Almost no one knows the truth. I've prepared sealed orders and when the time comes…"

"Right after… no… coinciding with your wedding. My god. You do know how to throw a party, Prince Davion."

The prince couldn't help but smile as the younger man pieced the scenario together without pause.

"The only question remaining is why tell me this?"

"Would you care to make a guess, Protector Calderon?"

"Would you care to stop playing games, Prince Davion?" There was no venom in Michael's voice.

Hanse reached out and tapped a page that showed a map of the Capellan Confederation. "As you've realised, after the initial wave of attacks I will be focusing my attention upon the Sarna Commonality, to cut the Confederation in two. However, being blunt, it isn't feasible for me to take and hold all of the Capellan worlds at once. The important ones, yes, but for the most part it will be a matter of destroying their defenses, leaving a token garrison and moving on. And while I'm attacking one end of their territory, who knows what could be happening up in the remoter regions of the Sarna Commonality?"

"Up near my border with the Confederation." Michael nodded to show his understanding. "You're talking about an alliance."

"Possibly. At a minimum I'm hoping you'd be willing to loan me some of your fleet to support my movements. Meaning no offense, you probably have no idea what warfare on this level demands in terms of logisitics. However, if you are willing, I see no reason you can't take a slice of the pie. The garrisons in that part of the Confederation are not terribly impressive, with the admitted exception of Archibald McCarron's regiments, and with my invasion underway they won't be able to move reinforcements into the area."

Michael sank backwards into the cushions, eyes distant. "And if I'm snacking on their posterior, then Liao will have to make the hard choice between holding the troops there to fight me or pulling them out to defend his industrial core from you. I see the advantages to you."

"And to you."

"Scraps from the table, Prince Davion. They may not be your Skid Row worlds, but House Liao does not lavish resources upon its periphery border. Unless you're suggesting that my little army could reach planets like Menke or Grand Base?"

"You have twelve regiments of Battlemechs. The total forces that House Liao has departed that would be in your path would total half of that."

"It's closer to eleven regiments," Michael admitted absently.

Hanse concealed a frown – with two mercenary regiments and one regular regiment understrength according to MIIO reports, Michael's admission was accurate… but why did it sound somehow false, as if the Protector was concealing something.

The young man looked up. "I'd have to talk to my officers. Whether or not this is feasible in military terms is beyond me. I admit to being interested through. In political terms, it would be easier to persuade my people to accept this if there was a prospect of something in the hand rather than the bush, if you take my meaning."

Hanse did, all too well. "You want me to make some kind of concession before you'll commit?"

"In a manner of speaking. You have to realise that given the history of our two states there will inevitably be objections on both sides of the border to any alliance. I'm not so foolish as to think that I can ask much of you, since that would inflame opinion on your side, but I do need to account for Shraplen's faction myself."

"You sound as if you have something in mind."

"Troussin, Victralla, Werfer and Desolate Plains."

The names plucked at Hanse's mind but he couldn't place them. Worlds? He glanced at a map of the border but couldn't see them in the vicinity.

"You won't find them there," Michael told him quietly. "Here." He held up an older map, four worlds marked in red. Not one appeared on the newer chart that Hanse had looked to. "They are old Taurian colonies, annexed by the Federated Suns when we were forced into the Star League and then abandoned during the Succession Wars when the terraforming began to break down. Worthless to you, even strategically, since they're right along the existing border. But to my people, they'd be the return of something lost."

Hanse examined the map. Truthfully, nothing that Michael was said was incorrect. But surrendering worlds to a periphery state, even unpopulated ones, would be a political minefield. "It's not as easy as that."

"Don't play the dog in the manger, your highness. The only thing that stops me sending expeditions to begin re-terraforming them is the legal title. You know that there's no chance of the Federated Suns doing the same."

"Maybe now, but what about the future?" Hanse dropped the chart back on the table. "With NAIS making new advances, who's to say that my children or grandchildren won't want to recolonise lost worlds inside our borders? I'm sorry, but you're placing me in the same position you describe yourself as holding. I'd need something more concrete than the support of what you yourself admit are rather small forces in order to justify ceding four entire star systems that are within my borders."

Michael retrieved the map and placed it back in his document case. "That's unfortunate. I'm still interested in your offer, don't get me wrong, but it will be a harder sell as things stand." He zipped the case closed. "Perhaps we should break for the day. You've given me a great deal to think about. Let me consult my advisors and we can pick this up in the morning."

"Alright." Hanse picked up his own documentation, carefully accounting for every sheet. Quite apart from the wider consequences, Quintus Allard would never let him hear the end of it if his own carelessness led to the secrets falling into the wrong hands. "Of course, you realise that since our schedule just openned up for this evening, we'll have to give the publicists their due?"

"Oh?" Michael grimaced suddenly. "Ah yes, photo opportunities."

"The burdens of our position," Hanse said with a grin. "Maybe if we're really good for them, they will be satisfied snapping a few shots at the dinner table and on an after-dinner walk."

"Optimist," predicted the younger man sourly.

.oOo.

Walmer Bay, Hyalite

Capellan March, Federated Suns

21 October 3027

"I believe we left the ball in your court." Hanse sat back and watched Michael carefully as the younger man took his place opposite him. Despite having been clearly weary and even a little short with the photographers the previous evening, this morning the Protector seemed to be fully refreshed. "Would you care to begin?"

Michael took a deep breath. "I'm told that militarily, invading the Capellan Confederation is possible. Arguably insane, but possible. I haven't given them details of course. And while the Confederation only has one former Taurian world, Rollis, the notion of expanding beyond that is fairly positive. So I am interested in a prospective alliance, assuming we can work out the details."

Hanse felt a surge of triumph. "I'm pleased to hear that."

"I still think maybe we can work something out on the border worlds," added the younger redhead pointedly, "But let's leave that aside for the moment. We're talking about me mounting a major operation against the Capellan Confederation. I presume that you want this to coincide with your own attacks, around the end of next summer?"

"That's right. If one of us attacks before the other, then Liao will send their reserves against the first attack – which is all very well for the second attack but makes life harder for the first. And I'm not so fond of the Concordat that I'll have my soldiers bleed to make life easy for yours."

"And since I feel the same way about the Federated Suns, we should attack at least within a few days of each other. Very well, that decides when to attack.." Michael nodded thoughtfully. "I take it that you cannot count upon the support of those units assigned to the Capellan March?"

"That is correct," Hanse agreed. "I could hardly take Hasek-Davion into my confidence when I suspected he was conspiring with Liao."

"Well in that case, why not draw down his forces a little? Would you mind terribly if I bought out the Illician Lancers' contract with the AFFS? They'll probably be glad to get out of the political wrangling on New Syrtis and I could do with the reinforcements."

Hanse frowned in consideration. "The Lancers have given good service, but you're right, they'd leap at a new contract with the way Michael has been treating them. Alright, I'll let Ellaine Steward know that you have my blessing if she wants to take your offer. But you'll have to pay for them to relocate from Jonzac."

"I'll do that as long as you let them stay there until the war kicks off. Why warn Liao before we have to? Until the fightint starts then they might be needed right where they are. It's after that that pulling them out from Michael's command and having them hop across the border will cause maximum confusion."

"I like it." Hanse grinned. "It's a pity my sister didn't give me a niece rather than a nephew. I could have married her off to you and made the Capellan March impregnable for a generation."

"Thank you for the image of your nephew in a wedding dress. That's really not an image I wanted to have engraved on my subconcious. Besides, any Calderon-Davion children would have brought the Capellan March into the Taurian Concordat."

"It would be Davion-Calderon children and I think the Taurian March has a nice ring to it."

The two men laughed.

"Seriously, I'd be dangling by a hemp rope if I even joked about it in public," Michael reminded him. "I'm young and naive, I'm not that young and naive."

"Truthfully, you've done very well. I know how hard it was for Ian to take the throne and he was only a few months older than you. I'm sorry about your family, but I'm sure they would be proud of you."

Michael covered any emotion at the mention by pouring himself some water. "One hopes," he said enigmatically.

"I must admit, I found their deaths to be rather too convenient. After all, if you had been then the next in line would have had a rather tenuous claim."

"Daisy Lee is only a year older than I am," Michael agreed. "She'd have been under-age, and illegitimate. And to be totally honest, she was even less prepared than I to become a national leader. She's doing better now."

Hanse restrained a smile. The Protector's second cousin was probably a very pleasant young lady, but he wondered how much Michael's affection was due to the fact that the girl was not only his cousin and heir, but also his lover. The degree of kinship wasn't close enough for it to be considered a problem and Daisy Lee Calderon-James was the Cinderella of the Concordat according to the media but MIIO considered her a potential vulnerability.

"I take it that the investigation didn't turn up anything?"

"Nothing to suggest that it was malice rather than simple incompetence, which is usually the most plausible reason. I'm sure conspiracy theorists will argue over it for the next century of course." Michael shrugged. "If someone wanted to get the Protectorship out of the hands of the Calderon family, all they needed to do was elect Shraplen to that office rather than appoint him as my regent. It's as technically legal as electing a Captain-General who isn't a Marik or a Chancellor who isn't a Liao."

"And about as likely."

"Well I never said it would be easy. But as I said, even a very thorough investigation turned up no indications of foul play. The perversity of the universe, combined with human fallibility, proved entirely sufficient. However, in addition to being rather maudlin, we appear to have drifted off topic."

Hanse nodded thoughtfully and poured himself some water. "Is this where you bring up those lost colonies again?"

"In a manner of speaking." Michael leant forwards. "You said you'd want something concrete to justify ceding those worlds back to me. Well, I have something. But it raises the stakes quite a bit, so... I'm just going to make this totally clear. The reason that you and your predecessors haven't tried to seize the industrial worlds of the Hyades since the fall of the Star League is that you know damn well that all you'd be taking would be a nuclear wasteland. What I'm about to tell you falls under the same conditions."

"If I hadn't said much the same yesterday about my Capellan plans, I'd think you were being dramatic," Hanse replied thoughtfully. "You've piqued my curiosity though. What are you suggesting?"

"Lostech."

Now Hanse was leaning forwards as well. "I suspected as much. What did you find?"

"Oddly enough, some of my soldiers came across it by pure chance," Michael said, evidently amused by tantalising the older man. "They were surveying a site as a possible forward base. I don't think seriously expected to find what they did."

There was a moment of silence. Hanse parted his lips to tell him to stop playing around but paused as Michael held up one hand. "Let me have my moment. It's not every day I get to tell someone I have a complete Terran Hegemony military technological database."

The waterglass slipped from Hanse's grip and bounced off the coffee table, thankfully not shattering, onto the carpet, spilling water across the First Prince's knee. "You have a what?"

"It's intact, still on the original Memory Core, which dates from the late Star League period so while it's currently encoded we've been able to establish that it contains data on just about every vessel, vehicle, and weapons system developed from the height of the Terran Alliance to the fall of the Star League. Everything from the first generation Mackie to the equipment that was reserved for their Royal Divisions, not even allocated to regular SLDF units."

"You're joking."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Hanse stared searchingly at Michael and mopped ineffectually at his damp trouser leg. "No. No, you're serious. Dear God, you just stumbled upon something like that?"

"It's rather like finding the Holy Grail at the back of a drinks cabinet, isn't it?"

"What's your price?"

"What am I bid?" Michael shrugged. "I'm offering you a copy, exclusively. You take the deal and I'll guarentee that I won't share the memory core or copies thereof with anyone else. That leaves you and me with a potentially huge advantage over the rest of the Inner Sphere... and being honest, you are more able to make use of that than I am. That's literally beyond price, so make me an offer."

Hanse stood. "I think I need to take a walk, get some air. Maybe a stiff drink."

"I can understand that." Michael reached down and picked up the fallen glass. When he looked up again, the door was already closing behind Hanse. "Are we ever going to finish one of these meetings without one of us having to cut it short to think things over?"

.oOo.

It was five hours before an aide alerted Michael that Hanse Davion had returned to the meeting room and wanted to resume their conversation before dinner.

Having been working his way through reports relayed to him by the Privy Council, back on Taurus, Michael had been in his shirt-sleeves and rather than putting his suit jacket and waist coat back on, he rebelliously donned up a somewhat battered leather jacket and fedora before making the short walk along the windswept sea front between his own villa and the main hotel building.

"Dressing down, are you?" Hanse asked as Michael entered.

The younger man dropped his hat onto the couch next to him but didn't bother removing his jacket. "I didn't sleep so well. Something about revealing one of my more classified secrets to a foreign power..."

"Well no doubt I'll be having second thoughts about what I'm about to offer you as well." Hanse poured two glasses of water and then offered one to Michael.

He shook his head. "No thank you. I get the feeling I don't want to be drinking anything when you tell me what you have in mind."

"That might be wise." Hanse drummed his fingers against the table for a moment. "Alright, to begin with, I'm going to up the ante a little further."

"I don't want Terra. Where would I put it?"

"Funny man. No, not Terra. I think I have something to tempt you though. However, for what I'm about to offer you, I want a little more than just a copy that core. I want the original for the New Avalon Institute of Science. And I want you, personally, to marry one of my cousins."

"If I was drinking, I'd have just decorated you with it." Michael leant forwards intently, focused upon the other man's face. "This must be quite an offer you're about to make. Particularly given that last idea."

"I think you'll be impressed." Reaching into his document case Hanse pulled out a map of the border. A red line overlay the current territorial boundaries, one that made perfect sense to Michael: the border of the Taurian Concordat back in the days before the Star League. It cut a long, narrow slice from the Federated Suns, running through no less than five defense zones, and finally taking out one small corner of the Capellan Confederation. The younger man's breath caught in his throat and even iron control couldn't keep a twinkle from the prince's eye as he saw his move strike home.

"My proposal is this: I'll detach all the worlds you lost in the Reunification War, except Rollis of course." That was the only Taurian world still in Capellan hands. "They'll be formed into an autonomous region, the Taurian March, rule of which will be invested in the Duke of the Pleiades, which title will be held in perpetuity by the Protectors of the Taurian Concordat. I can't cut them loose entirely, but in practical terms you'll have what all your predecessors have wanted for over four centuries. How is that for a concrete proposal, Protector Calderon?"

Michael sat back in his seat, fighting for composure. Hanse, watching him, was surprised. He would not have been surprised to see the young man grasp the offer like a drowning man. It was, quite literally, a dream come true for the Taurians.

But instead, Michael said nothing, gathering his thoughts and refusing to respond on impulse. The discipline was not what Hanse would have anticipated in someone so young and he was impressed again.

"Well, Michael?" he asked after a few moments had passed.

"It's a very interesting offer, Hanse. I'd even go so far as to say that it's very tempting."

"You think you can negotiate for something better than this?"

Michael smiled wryly. "Well there are always details to be settled upon, Hanse. But in this case I'd have to say I do have a few reservations. Still, it's a... good starting point."

.oOo.

Neither man left the room for dinner, surprising many of their aides who looked at each across the dining room with concern while out of sight in the lounge their leaders continued to haggle over details.

"The status of the Taurian March could be a little tricky," Michael persisted stubbornly. "I can't pledge fealty to you, Hanse. That just wouldn't work worth a damn. Everyone and their dog would see it as one step short of turning the Concordat into an extension of the March and eventually just another province to be ruled from New Avalon."

"I see your point, but I've got to retain some control or it will rebound against me. I can't just sign over thirty worlds just like that."

"Okay then, how about this. You detach the Taurian March from the Federated Suns, and it's administered directly as part of the Federated Commonwealth instead."

Hanse's brow furrowed. "I should be used to this by now... where did you hear that name? I really need to speak to Quintus about the number of leaks that are springing up."

"Oh come on." Michael's face was mildly scornful. "I admit that I don't know all that many details about the treaty between you and Archon Steiner, but between ComStar whispering in various ears and your wedding announcement, I'm sure there isn't a head of state this side of Redjack Ryan who hasn't put that much together."

"Very true," admitted Hanse. "Alright, I can work with that. So you'll pledge... friendship and alliance rather than fealty and allegiance."

"I can sell that to my people. Agreed."

"It would be best to have a gradual handover of power, say over the course of ten years." Hanse ran his fingers across the map of the region. "It's not just changing the names on a few buildings, the new borders will be completely different. And probably not all the troops will want to leave, which means transferring them from the AFFS to the Taurian Defense Force."

"I presume you mean the Warren and Ridgebrook March Militias and the conventional brigades posted to the area?"

"Maybe a Training Battalion as well, but I'll be moving the Albion Cadre in the area somewhere else and it's mostly mercenaries in that region anyway."

Michael nodded. "Fair enough. Alright, Ridgebrook and Warren are both command worlds so breaking the March into two zones would make sense. We can keep the line between Warren and Ridgebrook PDZ's as the boundary."

"I suppose I will have to redraw the boundaries on my side of the line as well," Hanse agreed. "But that can wait until after the war. I'd prefer that anything you take be divided between the Capellan and Taurian Marches, rather than being folded into the Concordat."

"And here I had images of folding everything from here to Sian into a glorious empire. Seriously, I suppose that would over-stretch me. We can leave the details for later then... but if we're doing that then I'm holding off on even discussing any marriage until the war is over."

"You don't want to marry my cousin?"

"I've never even met your cousin," Michael pointed out reasonably. "For that matter, given what I know of your family tree, have you even met whoever it is you have in mind? I don't recall you having even one first, second or third cousin on the Davion side."

"The one I have in mind is a student at NAIS, mechwarrior cadet. Nice girl, you'll like her. Or maybe Katrina has a suitable cousin. How would you feel about marrying a Steiner?"

"About the same, given it's sight unseen. Just because you're getting married doesn't mean that everyone else has to, your highness. Were you this much of a pain in the neck to Katrina? For that matter, I think the only close female relative she has that is close to my age is engaged. To you!"

"Her niece is only five or six years older than you."

"Nine years, assuming you mean Nondi Steiner's daughter Lisa. Which would make her about the same age as... um, Maximilian's younger daughter but let's not go there."

Hanse nodded his agreement. Romano Liao was... a true heir to House Liao, in both the good and bad senses. "I'm not sure why you're so against the idea of marriage though. I know you're young, but it really isn't a ball and chain arrangement."

"Says the man who's been an 'eligible bachelor' for my entire lifetime. And I have a girlfriend already, as I am quite sure you're aware, and I'm very fond of her. It may be a little naive of me to not want to be making marital arrangements with someone else behind her back but if I was willing to do that to her, how much could you trust me when it comes to this treaty?"

"I hadn't looked at it that way. Still, can I be blunt?" At Michael's nod, Hanse continued: "How serious are you and your cousin."

Michael looked resigned. "I don't have a great deal to compare it to. As I said, I'm very fond of her and I rather think she'd have told me if she didn't feel that way herself. Maybe it will last and maybe it won't but I'm not just going to assume that it will never go anywhere for political convenience." He sat back on the couch. "Look, if it doesn't work out then we can revisit that proposal of yours, but for now my marital plans are not on the negotiation table."

"Alright." Hanse held up his hands in surrender. "We can look at it again in a couple of years. I have to warn you, warfare has a way of tarnishing ideals though."

"I prefer to view it as long term pragmatism." Michael pushed himself to his feet. "Let's take a couple of minutes away from this. Do you want another sandwich?"

The older man considered and then nodded. "Yes, I suppose I could."

Having placed an order through the rather anachronistically styled telephone on a side table, Michael returned to the couch. "I do have a question for you, actually. Something of a personal nature."

"Oh?"

"Why approach me? It's quite a gamble, given our nation's history. If I was more like Shraplen, of like Uncle Thomas, I might have leaked your plans to Liao under the table and gambled that you'd be too torn up from fighting them to follow through with your threat."

"I do have ears in the Concordat," Hanse pointed out. "I know that you and your regent disagreed over the policies to be taken towards the Federated Suns. As you can imagine, I've been keeping a very close eye on you, I need to know who I'd be dealing with. And honestly I liked what I saw."

"Since I'm being honest..." He stretched out in his chair and loosened the collar of his uniform tunic. "I've never had any designs on the Concordat. Too much pain for too little gain. You're, no offense, simply not worth the trouble it would be to invade. I like my troops alive and not radioactive. But having all that trouble descend on Maximilian right when he least needs it, with a Protector who actually cares about protecting his people."

"I can assure you that Uncle Thomas was most intent upon protecting the Concordat, albeit from threats that may have existed primarily in his imagination." Peeling off his jacket, Michael folded it and deposited it on top of his hat. "Since we're being candid, I did give some serious though to trying to take back the worlds we lost to you back during the Star League. It didn't take a military genius to realise that doing so by force would be suicidal for my nation. Getting them peacefully... until today I would never have considered it any more likely."

"You're right, it would have been national suicide. But I'm glad not to have to fight that war. You Taurians are tough fighters and you're a clever young man. Stopping you would have put my plans back a decade at least."

Michael pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I think I might have been able to sling a few more hammers into your schemes than that, but you do have more experience than me and this is after all an entirely theoretical conversation. After all, those sorts of plans can only end with the Inner Sphere in flames, everybody dead and me losing my hat."

"Your... hat?"

"And any plan where I lose my hat is a bad plan." Michael nodded wisely.

"You like messing with people's heads, don't you?"

He chuckled. "It passes for having a sense of humour."

The door to the suite opened and a waitress pushed a small trolley into the room. She uncovered two dishes before retreating silently from the room. Hanse noticed that Michael surreptitiously shot a glance at the young woman's snugly fitting black skirt and hid a smile. For all his confidence, in some ways the other man was still a teenager. "Shall we get back to business?" he asked out loud as he rose and walked over to the trolley. Both plates held thickly stuffed sandwiches, the meat inside still steaming from the kitchen and cheese just beginning to run. One – his own – had a garnish of lettuce and peppers laid out around it on the plate, while the other had two boiled eggs, a slab of cheddar and fingers of celery, cucumber and carrot stacked on the dish.

"I suppose that's probably about as much relaxation as we're likely to get." Michael accepted the plate that Hanse had placed in front of him and pretended he didn't see that the Prince had filched a finger of carrot from the plate. "Now you were wanting the Concordat to commit to pay for the repatriation of Federated Suns wanting to relocate from the Taurian March. In principle that's fair enough but I want some safeguards. I'm not going to gut my treasury if eleven million people decide they want tickets all the way to Kilbourne."

"That's fair. What do you have in mind?" Honestly, Hanse had to admit he doubted that anything like that number would choose to leave. The Outback worlds had never been recipients of great government largesse and most cared more for their own homes than they did for the Suns.

"I'll pay for emigrants to travel as far as New Syrtis or Panpour -" just across the border in other words "- but there will be a hard cap on the total amount I spend. If the numbers are low, they'll get full costs but if a lot of people decide to leave then they'll only get partial costs and have to make up the differences themselves. And nobles who choose to leave are forfeiting their landholds to the Taurian March government."

"We'll need to settle on a reasonable level to cap the spending on that, but it sounds reasonable," Hanse agreed cautiously. "You mentioned nobles leaving, but what about those who stay? Many of those families have been there for hundreds of years and I don't want to have them turned off their land."

"Nothing of the sort. I'm going to be counting on those who stay to work with the new administration. I can't just import Taurians: we've been the enemy across the border for the last four centuries. I want to work with the populace, not provoke semi-annual uprisings against me. At the end of the ten year transfer, I'll want them all to have sworn fealty to the Duke of the Pleiades and to the Federated Commonwealth but otherwise I'm not going to deprive them of landholds. For that matter, the reorganisation of the local governments should open up opportunities for them."

Hanse nodded. "Alright. I didn't seriously think you'd make such a basic mistake but it's not a good area for misunderstanding."

"Oh agreed. And since we're talking money..."

"Were we talking money?"

"We are now, try to keep up, old man," Michael said in a faux accent, aiming for upper class English twit and not missing by very much.

"You youngsters are so materialistic. What about loyalty, honour, self-respect?"

"What of them?"

Hanse shrugged. "Can't remember. So, money?"

"Taxes, to be specific."

"The standard is that twenty percent of all tax revenues in each March is handed over the federal government," explained Hanse.

Michael gave him a searching look and when it was clear that Hanse felt this was sufficent he shook his head. "A March of the Federated Suns, perhaps. But this will be an autonomous March of the Federated Commonwealth, a very different matter."

"I don't see how."

"Two percent."

"You have got to be joking, Michael. Do you have any idea how much money you're asking me to give up?"

"Approximately thirty billion pounds a year. This isn't exactly the beating heart of your economy, you know."

Hanse grimaced. "That's close, yes. It's not exactly pocket change you know. I'll need to make that up somewhere."

"Other than your new Sarna March, perhaps? Do you really want me to start crunching numbers on the likely revenue from the industrial worlds there. For that matter, Tikonov's tax revenues should be almost that high."

"Those worlds will cost as much, maybe more, during the reconstruction after the war. We're talking about a decade before the returns would balance what you're asking. I could probably agree to ten percent: trade with the Concordat should boost their economies to an extent."

Michel frowned. "Five." He held up one hand before Hanse could comment. "Five and a removal of all trade barriers between the Taurian Concordat and the Taurian March. Those worlds will be a major trading route, boosting their economies and letting you buy from my industrial worlds without any restriction."

"Including military production?" Hanse straightened slightly as he asked the question. The Taurian Concordat had survived the fall of the Star League with a solid industrial core that was as good as any comparable region of the Inner Sphere. Not enough to be self-sufficient but enough that their exports of military hardware financed imports of essential items that they could not manufacture for themselves."

"I won't give you an absolute priority but you can buy just like everyone else," Michael agreed. "Do we have an agreement? I'm sure that my corporations will be delighted to gain a new market... Hanse...? For God's sake man, if you start drooling I'm going to have the serving staff bring you a bib!"

.oOo.

Hanse started and gave Michael a surprised look. Then he sat back and began to laugh loudly. It was only with a considerable effort of will that he was able to force himself to stop when the younger man began to look at him strangely. "I don't think there are six men alive with the courage to say that to my face," he explained. "It's rather refreshing."

"L'audace, l'audace. Toujours, l'audace."

The anglo-french dialect native to New Avalon was close enough to its historic roots that Hanse understood the quote perfectly. "Easy to say, Michael, but that sort of - what's the euphemism? - testicular fortitude, is a lot harder in practise." He pushed himself to his feet. "I need something to wash the sandwich down and I hate to drink alone."

"I don't know... you're bad enough sober," grumbled Michael but when Hanse returned with two tumblers, each containing a double-shot of an amber fluid and not even the slightest hint of ice, he accepted his and sniffed at it warily.

"Genuine scotch, all the way from Terra," Hanse told him and raised his own glass in salute. "Sir, I give you the Taurian March."

"The March." Michael sipped and raised his eyebrows appreciatively before raising the glass again. "Confusion to our enemies."

"I'll drink to that." Neither man parted the glasses from their lips until they were completely drained, something that left Michael coughing.

The two redheads looked at each other over the table. "I think we're done negotiating for the evening."

"If you think I'm going to negotiate drunk then there was something stronger than scotch in your glass," Michael told him. "My turn to go to the cabinet, I believe."

"Bring a couple of bottles," Hanse instructed. "It occurs to me that every man is due a chance to kick back before he marries, and since the night before my actual wedding is scheduled to be a formal reception, this may be the only chance I'll have of something resembling a stag night."

Michael rolled his eyes as he pulled the barely tapped bottle of scotch out of the cabinet. "Next thing you'll ask for is a stripper." He considered and then firmly returned to the cabinet a bottle of Brisbane Rum. He had some happy memories associated with the liquor, in moderation. But this was definitely not the time or place. He'd moved over to some Vodka that had almost certainly been smuggled across the Capellan border before he registered that there had been no reply to the gibe. "That was a joke."

"Oh come now, it's a tradition going back a thousand years at least. Besides, how often do you think I have the chance to sit back and relax with someone who doesn't call me sire? Not since Ian died, I can assure you."

"Where the hell are you going to get a stripper at this time of night in an isolated resort?" It was a weak objection and Michael knew it.

"My young friend," Hanse said with a broad smile as Michael placed the bottles on the table. "No one becomes concierge of a place like this unless they welcome a challenge. Observe!"

.oOo.

Walmer Bay, Hyalite

Capellan March, Federated Suns

22 October 3027

It had been a long time since Hanse Davion had experienced a hangover. Either his memories had faded or this one was hitting him harder than his previous experiences. Then again, as he had told Michael the previous evening, it had been well over a decade since the last time and it was remotely possible that alcohol was taking more of a toll on him in his forties than it had in his twenties.

It would have been more tolerable if, having choked down breakfast and some painkillers, he hadn't found the Protector of the Taurian Concordat bright-eyed and apparently unafflicted by the same pains.

"Good morning, your highness. Did you sleep well?"

"Not so badly," Hanse conceded. "How about you?"

"Sleeping wasn't a problem. Waking up was a painful experience though." Michael's lips curled into a tight smile. "Probably about the way you're feeling right now, come down to it. It passes after a couple of hours."

"That's my recollection." Speaking of recollections, Hanse was almost certain that when they had finally decided that the time had come to retreat to their respective quarters, the two waitresses who had been convinced to shed their inhibitions regarding the removal of clothing in the presence of gentlemen and to attempt the ancient and exotic art of pole dancing had both left with Michael. "I hope the young ladies are well."

"I would presume so," Michael told him. "Neither of them drank very much and they have been given ample incentive never to publicize the way you were pawing at them last night."

"I, sir, am a graduate of the New Avalon Military Academy. We do not paw at women, they paw at us."

Michael laughed. Loudly. Sending jabbing pains through Hanse's head.

"And I suppose you didn't paw at them yourself?" the Prince added somewhat sarcastically.

The younger man shook his head. "They're nice girls and as you know full well, I already have a girlfriend. I made sure that the concierge knew that whatever had induced them to strip for our entertainment, it should be bolstered with nice bonus. It'll be on your bill, since it was your idea."

"So you didn't..."

"It's important to my self-image that I don't need to pay women before they sleep with me," Michael told him. "Regardless of what the actual payment was for. Now are we going to talk business or can I go back to bed and start paying off my sleep debt?"

"I think we mostly hammered out the major points last night," Hanse said. "We might as well let the lawyers translate it into an official treaty today and then check what they come up with. However, there is another important matter to discuss."

"Do tell."

"Wedding invitations are already being delivered and I brought yours with me. I do hope you'll attend."

Michael blinked. "On Terra? I presume you remember how long it will take me to get there and back. And with a war imminent I can hardly spare enough jumpships for a command circuit. Unless I can pick up a commerical routing it'll take three months just to get there and the same back. I don't want to be away that long."

"Come via New Syrtis and New Avalon then. I have a command circuit in place to take me there and the jumpships will be recharged in time for the return trip. That'll shave a month off the journey and there's a good military route between New Avalon and New Syrtis, cutting across the Nahoni rift at Nogales. Not much more than six or seven weeks either way, depending on traffic and there will be a lot of military ships moving back and forth."

"I'll think about it. Even a month and a half would be a long time with a war breaking out." Michael shrugged. "I suppose I'd have to find wedding gifts as well."

"Ah yes. But if you don't come then you won't get to see me offer my own gift. It's going to be quite something."

Michael nodded. "Let me guess, the Capellan Confederation on a platter."

"At this point I'm not even surprised that you guessed," Hanse said with a shake of his head. "You're disgustingly good at that."

"If only it applied to card games."

Hanse laughed. "Ah well. If you're worried about picking a present, you could always present the core in person."

Giving him a puzzled stare, Michael deliberately twisted his little finger inside one ear and then the other. "Did you just suggest I take an irreplaceable item of lostech where ComStar can get their greasy paws on it, not to mention that there would be ISF strike forces fighting Death Commandos for possession of it by the soup course of the reception. Or are you counting on that to provide entertainment?"

"I did say that," confessed Hanse, "But perhaps I was letting my flair for the dramatic get ahead of me."

"Perhaps?"

"Alright, alright. But seriously, you should attend. Everyone who is everyone in the Inner Sphere will be there. Your presence will send a powerful message to the other House Lords and with this treaty you're going to have to learn how to handle them."

Michael grimaced. "Is it too late to change my mind?"

.oOo.

Walmer Bay, Hyalite

Capellan March, Federated Suns

25 October 3027

"Have you thought about how you're going to do it?" Hanse asked over dinner the last evening before they both left for home.

Michael looked down at his peppered steak. "Well I was going to cut it into small pieces and eat it. Why?"

"Good luck with that." Hanse couldn't imagine why his counterpart liked his steak well done – practically blackened in fact. "But I was referring to the Confederation."

"How I'm going to do the Capellan Confederation? With great vigor, I assure you."

"And from behind, yes. But absent the amusing euphemisms?"

Michael sighed and cut into the steak. "McCarron's Armored Cavalry are the biggest problem. Five regiments that good will be a nightmare if they remain a concentrated force. My best option is to eliminate them immediately, which means striking at Menke directly. That means fighting the planetary militia as well of course but at least this way I can concentrate forces on them."

"That makes some degree of sense. Do you think that you can beat them though?"

"It'll take a rather large hammer. Still, with the Illician Lancers already in the general area I should be able to move forward a Corps at least. I'll have my staff work on the actual numbers. It'll be a tough fight, but either way it will neutralise them." He chewed on a mouthful of steak and potato before continuing. "A more conventional thrust out of Brisbane and Laconis can link up with the Menke attack force and after that they can either push further in towards Sian or push in the direction of the Free Worlds League border. It would depend what makes sense."

"I'd prefer you took the Sian option if it looks feasible when the time comes. We can roll up their forces between us and within two years we'll be celebrating our victory on Sian."

Michael's eyes narrowed in thought. "That wouldn't be much more than a year's campaigning and I'd be impressed if we make it that far so fast. Let's not get overconfident."

"Reach for the moon, boy." Hanse lifted his glass and sipped at the wine.

"Watch where you put your feet," Michael observed sardonically.

"Oh come now, I thought you were a fan of audacity?"

"Being audacious is one thing. Not noticing that you are being audacious is quite another. Or to put it another way, hope for the best but plan for the worst."

Hanse lifted a slice of his own steak to his lips, hiding a smile. Good, the boy had a sense of proportion. This might work out well for both of them.


End file.
